Delphi Complete Works of Propertius Read online

  The Complete Works of

  PROPERTIUS

  (c. 50–15 BC)

  Contents

  The Translations

  THE ELEGIES: PROSE TRANSLATION

  THE ELEGIES: VERSE TRANSLATION

  The Latin Text

  CONTENTS OF THE LATIN TEXT

  The Dual Text

  DUAL LATIN AND ENGLISH TEXT

  The Biography

  INTRODUCTION TO PROPERTIUS

  The Delphi Classics Catalogue

  © Delphi Classics 2015

  Version 1

  COPYRIGHT

  Complete Works of Propertius

  First published in the United Kingdom in 2015 by Delphi Classics.

  © Delphi Classics, 2015.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form other than that in which it is published.

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  is an imprint of

  Delphi Publishing Ltd

  Hastings, East Sussex

  United Kingdom

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  www.delphiclassics.com

  The Complete Works of

  SEXTUS PROPERTIUS

  By Delphi Classics, 2015

  The Translations

  Assisi (Assisium), a town in Italy’s Umbria region, on the western flank of Monte Subasio—Propertius’ birthplace

  THE ELEGIES: PROSE TRANSLATION

  Translated by H. E. Butler, 1912

  Propertius produced four books of elegies, totalling approximately 92 poems, composed in the form of the elegiac couplet, popularly employed in Latin literature during the late first century BC. Like most of the elegists, Propertius’ work is dominated by the figure of a single woman, whom he refers to throughout by the pseudonym Cynthia. She is named in over half the elegies of the first book and appears indirectly in several others. The contemporary author Apuleius identified her real life name as Hostia and Propertius himself claims in his verse that she is a descendent of the Roman poet Hostius. Scholars argue that she was in fact a courtesan. The poet’s relationship with Cynthia veers between emotional extremes, and she clearly dominates his life, at least until the publication of the third book.

  The Greek term elegeia (lament) was used to refer to any verse written in elegiac couplets, often covering a wide range of subject matter, such as death, love and war. The term also included epitaphs, mournful songs and commemorative verses. The elegy of Roman literature was most often erotic or mythological in nature. Due to its structural potential for rhetorical effects, the elegiac couplet was also used by both Greek and Roman poets for witty, humorous and satirical subject matter.

  Propertius’ style is marked by seemingly abrupt transitions and imaginative allusion, often favouring the more obscure passages of Greek and Roman myth and legend. His idiosyncratic use of language, coupled with the corrupted state of the extant text, has made the elegies a challenge to edit over the centuries. Much uncertainty persists as to the dating of Propertius’ poems, which chronicle passionate declarations, jealousies, quarrels and lamentations. The last two poems of Book III seem to indicate a final break with Cynthia and she died some time before the publication of the final book. In the last book Cynthia is the subject of only two poems, often regarded as a postscript. In one verse, Cynthia’s ghost addresses Propertius from beyond the grave, criticising that her funeral was not lavish enough.

  Book IV strongly indicates that Propertius was planning a new direction for his poetry and features several aetiological poems which, in reviewing the mythological origins of Rome and its landmarks, can also be read as critical of Augustus and his plans for the new Rome. The final poem is a touching funeral elegy for the recently deceased Cornelia, daughter of Scribonia and a consular Publius Cornelius Scipio, consoling her husband Paullus and their three children. Although the poem, considering Cornelia’s connection to Augustus’ family, was most likely an imperial commission, its dignity and sensitive pathos have led many scholars to regard it as the finest of Propertius’ elegies.

  ‘Propertius and Cynthia at Tivoli’ by Auguste Jean Baptiste Vinchon

  CONTENTS

  BOOK I

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  VIIIA

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  XIII

  XIV

  XV

  XVI

  XVII

  XVIII

  XIX

  XX

  XXI

  XXII

  BOOK II

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  VIIIA

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  XIII

  XIIIA

  XIV

  XV

  XVI

  XVII

  XVIII

  XVIIIA

  XVIIIB

  XIX

  XX

  XXI

  XXII

  XXIIA

  XXIII

  XXIV

  XXIVA

  XXV

  XXVI

  XXVIA

  XXVII

  XXVIII

  XXVIIIA

  XXIX

  XXIXA

  XXX

  XXXI

  XXXII

  XXXIII

  XXXIV

  BOOK III

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  VIIIA

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  XIII

  XIV

  XV

  XVI

  XVII

  XVIII

  XIX

  XX

  XXI

  XXII

  XXIII

  XXIV

  XXV

  BOOK IV

  I

  IA

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  IX

  X

  XI

  Bust of Maecenas, Propertius’ great patron, at Coole Park, Co. Galway, Ireland

  BOOK I

  I

  AH! woe is me! ’twas Cynthia first ensnared me with her eyes; till then my heart had felt no passion’s fire. But then Love made me lower my glance of pride steadfast, and with implanted feet bowed down my head, till of his cruelty he taught me to spurn all honest maids, and to live a life of recklessness.

  7 A year has passed and my madness is not stayed, though my suit perforce endures the frown of heaven. Yet Milanion shrank not, Tullus, from any toils, howsoe’er hard, and so subdued the cruel heart of the unrelenting daughter of Iasus. For now he wandered love-distraught in the Parthenian caverns, and went to face the shaggy creatures of the wild. Nay, more, hardstricken once by the club of Hylaeus, he groaned in agony on the rocks of Arcady. So at last was he able to conquer the swift-footed maid; such is the reward that prayers and loyal service win for love. But for me, slow-witted Love hath lost his craft and forgets to tread the paths that once he trod.

  19 But ye who beguile men’s hearts by luring the moon from heaven, and toil to solemnise dread rites on ma
gic altars, go change my mistress’ heart and make her cheeks grow paler than mine own. Then will I trust your claim to have power over stars and rivers to lead them whithersoever ye will by Colchian charms.

  25 Or else do ye, my friends, that would recall me all too late from the downward slope, seek all the remedies for a heart diseased. Bravely will I bear the cruel cautery and the knife, if only I may win liberty to speak the words mine anger prompts. Ah! bear me far thro’ nations and seas at the world’s end, where never a woman may trace my path. Do ye abide at home, to whose prayer the god gives easy audience and answers “Yea,” and either to other make equal response of love unperilous. Against me Venus, our common mistress, plies nights of bitterness, and Love that hath no respite faileth never.

  35 Lovers, I warn ye all. Fly the woe that now is mine: cling each one to his own beloved, and never change when love has found its home. But if any all too late give ear to these my warnings, ah! with what agony will he recall my words!

  II

  WHAT boots it, light of my life, to go forth with locks adorned, and to rustle in slender folds of Coan silk? Or avails it aught to steep thy tresses in the myrrh of Orontes, to parade thyself in the gifts that aliens bring, to spoil the grace of nature by the charms that gold can buy nor allow thy limbs to shine in the glory that is their own? Believe me, thou hast no art can make thy form more fair; Love himself goes naked and hates those that make a craft of beauty. See what hues lovely earth sends forth; ’tis the wild ivy springs fairest ever; loveliest the arbutus that grows in the caverns of the wilderness, and all untaught are the channels where the waters run. Begemmed with native pebbles the shores beguile our eyes, and birds sing sweetlier from their lack of art.

  15 ’Twas not by art that Phoebe, Leucippus’ child, fired the heart of Castor, nor by adornments that Hilaira her sister won the love of Pollux. Not so did Euenus’ daughter become a bride, for whom of old Idas and passionate Phoebus strove; by no false brilliance did Hippodamia lure to her side her Phrygian spouse, and was whirled away on alien chariot-wheels. Unto no jewels their faces were beholden, pure as the hues that shine in Apelles’ pictures. They never craved to gather lovers through all the land; enough for them, if their beauty was clothed with chastity. Have I not then good cause for fear? Ah! count me not cheaper than; those vile wretches that seek thy love! With one true lover a maid hath enough of honour; so most of all, if Phoebus grant, as to thee, his boon of song and Calliope, nothing loth, bestow Aonia’s lyre, and every merry word is graced with wondrous charm, even by all that Venus and all that Minerva loves. All these things shall make thee dearest to my heart, if thou wilt but cast aside thy hateful luxury.

  III

  LIKE as the maid of Cnossus lay swooning on the desert strand whilst the bark of Theseus sped swift away, or as Andromeda, child of Cepheus, sank into her first sleep, freed at last from her hard couch of rock, or as the Thracian maenad, no less fore-done by the unending dance, lies sunk in slumber on the grassy banks of Apidanus, even so, me-seemed, did Cynthia breathe the spirit of gentle rest, her head propped on faltering hands, when I came dragging home my reeling feet, drunken with deep draughts of wine, and the slaves were shaking their dying torches in the gloom of night far-spent.

  11 Not yet were all my senses drowned, and I strove to approach her where she lay, and lightly pressed against her couch. And although a twofold frenzy had laid hold upon me, and the two inexorable gods of wine and love urged on this side and on that, with gentle touch I tried to pass mine arm about her where she lay, and with outstretched hand take passionate toll of kisses; yet I had not dared to break in upon my mistress’ rest (for I feared the bitter chidings of that cruel tongue, so oft endured by me), but fixed my gaze upon her with tireless eyes, even as Argus glared on the strange horned brow of the daughter of Inachus. And now I loosed the chaplets from my brow and placed them, Cynthia, about thy head, and now rejoiced to compose thy straying locks; and stealthily with hollowed hands gave thee apples, and on thy thankless slumbers lavished every gift, gifts poured abundantly from my bosom as I bowed above thee. And if at times thou didst move and sigh, I started for fear (though vain was the presage which won my belief) that visions of the night brought thee strange terrors or that some phantom-lover constrained thee to be his against thy will.

  31 But at last the moon gliding past the windows over against her couch, the officious moon with lingering light, opened her fast-closed eyes with its gentle beams. Then with elbow propped on the soft couch she cried:

  35 “At length another’s scorn has driven thee forth and closed the doors against thee and brought thee home to my bed once more. For where hast thou passed the long hours of the night, that was plighted to me, thou that comest to me outworn when the stars — ah, me! — are driven from the sky? Mayst thou, cruel heart, endure the long agony of nights such as ever thou bidst me broken-hearted keep. For but now I was beguiling mine eyes from slumber with purple broidery, and then, work-wearied, with the music of Orpheus’ lyre. And ever and anon, left thus forlorn, I made gentle moan unto myself, that oft thou lingerest locked in another’s arms, till at the last I sank down and sleep fanned my limbs with kindly wings. That was my last thought amid my tears.”

  IV

  WHY, Bassus, by praising the beauty of so many fair ones dost thou urge me to change my course and leave my mistress? Why sufferest thou me not to spend in her fetters, to which my heart grows ever more enured, whate’er of life the future has in store? Thou mayest praise the beauty of Antiopa, the child of Nycteus, the charms of Spartan Hermione and all the maids the age of beauty bore; yet Cynthia would make their glory pale; still less, were she compared with meaner beauties, would the harshest judge declare her the less fair. Yet even her shapely form is but the least part of that which frenzies me. Yet greater charms are there, for which, Bassus, to die with passion is my joy. A natural colour, grace sprung from skill in many an art, and joys whereof her couch keeps the secret.

  15 The more thou strivest to dissolve our love, the more doth either of us cheat thy craft with unshaken loyalty. Nor shalt thou go scatheless for this; the frenzied maid shall know what thou hast done, and by no gentle outcry shall prove thy foe, nor will Cynthia henceforth entrust me to thy care nor seek thy company; such crime as thine she will remember ever, and in her wrath will defame thee in every beauty’s ear; henceforth, alas! no threshold shall give thee welcome. No altar shall be too humble a witness for her tears, no sacred effigy, what e’er its sanctity, shall fail to know her grief. No loss touches Cynthia so deeply as when a lover’s heart is stolen from her and Cupid spreads his wings; deepest of all her grief if ’tis my love she loses. Ah! may she ever, I pray, abide thus, and may I never find aught in her to cause me to lament.

  V

  ENVIOUS, hush now at length thy unwelcome prayers, and let us go hand in hand along the path that now we tread. What wouldst thou, madman? Wouldst thou suffer frenzies such as mine? Poor wretch, thou hastest to acquaint thyself with the worst of ills, to tread on hidden fire to thy sorrow and drink all Thessaly’s store of poison. Shouldst thou compare her, she is not like those flighty loves of thine; her anger is no light thing. Nay, even if perchance she frown not wholly on thy prayers, yet what a world of care she will bring thee! No more will she suffer thee to sleep nor thine eyes to range at will; she, as none other, can bind the untamed of heart. Ah, how often wilt thou run to my doors a rejected suitor, when thy brave speech shall fail for sobs, and a chill shuddering and bitter weeping shall come upon thee, when fear shall trace disfiguring lines upon thy face, and the words thou wouldst speak die on thy lips in the midst of thy complaining and thou canst no more tell, poor wretch, who or where thou art!

  19 Then shalt thou be constrained to learn how bitter a thing it is to bear my mistress’ yoke, and what it means to return homeward when her doors are barred. Not any more shalt thou marvel so oft at the pallor of my face nor wherefore my whole frame is wasted into naught. Nor will thy high birth avail thee in thy love: L
ove scorns to yield to ancient ancestry. But if thou givest but the least sign of faithlessness, how soon will thy name, so powerful now, be a mere byword! I shall not then be able to console thee when thou comest asking aid, for mine own woe is cureless; but we shall be constrained, comrades in love and woe, to weep tears of sympathy, either on other’s breast. Wherefore cease, Gallus, to seek to learn my Cynthia’s power. Heavy the toll they pay in answer to whose prayer she comes.

  VI

  TULLUS, I fear not now to brave the Adrian waves with thee nor to spread my sails on the Aegean main; with thee I could scale the Rhipean heights or pass beyond the home of Memnon. But the words of my mistress as she hangs about my neck, her urgent prayers, her changing colour, all keep me back. All through the night she shrilly protests her love, and laments that she is left forlorn and that the gods are vanished out of heaven. Mine though she be, she will not yield herself, and uses all those threats that an aggrieved mistress will use to an angry lover. Not even an hour can I endure to live amid such complaints as these; perish the man that dares love unpassionately! Is it worth my while to visit learned Athens or to behold the ancient wealth of Asia, that Cynthia may upbraid me when my bark is launched and mar her face with passionate hands, and cry that she owes kisses to the wind that stays my journeying and that there is naught more cruel than a faithless lover?

  19 Do thou strive to outdo thine uncle’s well-earned rule and restore to the allies their long-forgotten rights. For thy youth has never yielded to love, and thy care has ever been for thy country’s arms. Never may the accursed boy lay sorrows such as mine on thee, nor all the torments that my tears know well! Let me, whom Fortune hath ever willed to lie prostrate, yield up my life obedient to the worst her wantonness can demand. Many have gladly perished in gyves of love, that they have borne so long, and, when earth laps me round, let me be one of these. Nature has not fitted me for glory or for arms; Love’s is the only warfare for which the Fates design me.